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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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A loud knock on the door to his room woke Garrett from his drunken stupor as he lay with his head and feet hanging off the sides of the bed. The smell of old vomit wafting in his nose made him grimace. He opened an eye to find the source of the odor covering the wooden planks beneath him. His head was pounding like the void and his gut felt like someone had used it for a practice dummy.

Where the bloody fuck am I?

It hurt too much to think. It even hurt too much to breathe. His mouth was as dry as the Western Approach in mid Solace and the taste was horrible enough to make him want to rip his tongue out.

Another knock echoed in his head like someone was beating a war drum inside his brain. He exhaled a long breath, prompting a series of dry heaves. At first he wondered if someone had poisoned him, but another examination of the floor declared that the only one who poisoned the pirate was himself. A half dozen empty rum bottles littered the floor around him, all empty of their amber contents.

Seriously, where the bloody fuck am I?

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. He was in Highever. His throat, raw from too much alcohol and vomit, constricted as he swallowed back the flood of tears burning his already red and puffy eyes. He rolled over onto his back and covered his face with his forearm as his body shook with his heart wrenching sobs.

Another rap at the door, turned his sorrow to fury. Whoever it was on the other side could go to the void. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. His only desire was to be left alone with his misery. He wondered if Martinez was looking for him. Perhaps he had sent the crew out on a hunt through the city. That would go over well.

When the persistent knocking sounded again, the pirate lurched upright, put his feet to the floorboards, and staggered to the door in a rage. He jerked the door open ready to scream at whoever was on the other side. Standing before him was the innkeeper’s wife, her eyes wide with terror. In one hand, she held a bowl with steam rising from the top. In the other, there was a full bottle of Rivaini rum. She held them out to him.

“I…I’m s…sorry to disturb you, m…my lord,” she stammered. “But I thought you might be hungry.”

The pirate’s countenance softened. “Thank you,” he told her with a despondent smile.

He felt like a complete ass. Although he was a pirate, Garrett always tried to make it a point to never put that look in an innocent person’s eyes. He had done a lot of things since he docked in Highever that he wasn’t proud of. Eleanor would have been ashamed of his behavior. It certainly didn’t serve her or Bryce’s memory well.

The old woman’s grey eyes flitted back and forth between his face and his body. They held genuine concern, but she was also distracted. That’s when Garrett realized he was still naked. After scanning the room for his clothes he remembered upon spotting them, they were still covered in blood and sick. He took a few steps backward and grabbed the sheet lying atop the bed before wrapping it around his waist.

“Are you alright, my lord?” the old woman asked, appearing both relieved and disappointed that he finally covered his nudity

He forced himself to present her with the most genuine smile he could muster. “I’ll be fine, love,” he told her. “No need to worry your pretty little head.” Her cheeks blushed red at his words as she shuffled inside and placed the food and drink on the small table.

“And if you don’t mind,” he continued. “It’s Hawke. Captain Hawke if you’re feeling overly formal. I’m a pirate, love. Not some noble prat.”

She grinned, but her bearing turned sour upon seeing the mess Garrett had made of the floor. He ran his hand through his ebony hair and donned a sheepish expression.

“Yeah, sorry about that, love,” he apologized as he retrieved the coin pouch from his filthy belt.

He fished out two more gold sovereigns then placed them in the woman’s hand. Upon closing her fist around the coins, the captain placed a gentle kiss on her rugose knuckles. She giggled like a young girl at the gesture.

“Thank you, my lor…Captain Hawke,” she said with a shy grin.

“Believe me, love,” he told her. “Seeing your lovely smile is well worth any amount of coin.”

“You remind me of a character I read about in a book once,” she swooned.

It took everything Garrett had to keep from rolling his eyes at her statement. He knew exactly which book she was referring to. The ridiculous thing had been haunting him for years.

Damned dwarf.

“If you could do me one more kindness, love,” he requested in an effort to change the subject. “I was wondering if you could possibly deliver a note to the ship, Yavana’s Call.”

“Anything you need, Captain,” she agreed.

“Excellent,” he said as he used the quill and parchment sitting on the desk under the window to scribble out a note. He folded the paper then lit the candle that lay next to the inkpot. After several moments, he poured a small amount of the candlewax onto the line of the document to seal it. After pressing the insignia of his index finger’s ring into the cooling wax, he passed the note to the innkeeper’s wife. “Make sure this gets to a man named Martinez. No one else.”

“Of course,” she said as she took the sealed parchment from his hand.

Garrett bent down and placed a kiss on the woman’s withered cheek. “Thank you, love.”

When he backed away, she rewarded him with a broad grin as she rubbed at the spot his lips had touched with her fingertips. She presented him with a small curtsy and another giggle and hurried from the room. Once she was gone, Garrett took a few bites of the stew. It wasn’t bad, but Ferelden cooking had never exactly been his favorite. Besides, his stomach was still tender from his previous evening’s overindulgences. The memory of the stew he and Fergus ruined when they were children by pouring an entire bag of salt into the pot crossed his mind. Nan had been furious, and Garrett and Fergus were compensated for the deed by the sting of Eleanor’s silver brush across their asses.

As tears stung his eyes once again, the pirate’s gaze caught on the bottle of rum sitting next to the bowl. He grabbed it and popped the cork with his thumb, sending it sailing to the floor a few feet ahead.

Ah well, what’s another day?

Against Morrigan’s wishes, Solona made the decision to go to the Chantry to speak the revered mother first. She wasn’t in any real hurry to get the Qunari out of the cage, but she determined it was better to just get the task out of the way. Besides, the large man looked as if he could use a decent meal as well. She only hoped the revered mother hadn’t already disposed of his equipment. It would certainly be a daunting task to locate new clothes for someone of his stature, let alone armor.

The Wardens had just reached the small footbridge that would lead them to the south side of the village where the Chantry lay, when they were approached by a woman in initiate’s robes. The woman appeared to be in her mid to late twenties with layered, chin-length hair of flaming red and large eyes the color of Crystal Grace petals. Laid across her arms was a bundle of what looked to be long cloaks of varying colors. She stepped in front of Solona, impeding the mage’s progress, and presented her with an overly friendly smile.

“Hello,” she greeted in an inordinately raised voice which carried a thick Orlesian accent. “I apologize for not greeting you when you arrived in the village, but with so many people here, I’m sure you understand.”

There was something very odd about the woman that put Solona on edge from the moment she spotted her out of the corner of her eye. She stood out among the rest of the rabble roaming the dirt pathways that wound through the small burrow, and not just because of the rich red color of her hair. There was too much purpose in the way the woman walked, like someone who was readying to rush into a perilous mission. Her blue eyes shone with cleverness and bespoke of someone who was much more dangerous than she endeavored to appear. She was battle hardened, experienced in the knowledge of being on both sides of a blade. Solona had seen that look too many times over the subsequent weeks to be taken in by such a ruse. The redhead’s innocent appearance was a disguise the woman wore well, but it was too transparent to fool someone who had just endured the things Solona had experienced.

“So you greet everyone who enters the village?” the mage asked.

The woman’s smile broadened, but it did not reach her eyes. “I try,” she replied. “Isn’t it the duty of the Chantry to give aid and comfort to the poor and downtrodden? I’m sure you have noticed there is quite a lot of that here in Lothering, no?”

“This village does seem to have its fair share of misery,” Solona agreed in a disinterested tone.

“I notice that you and your companions are without proper attire to brave the harsh Ferelden winter,” the redhead observed. “I would like to offer you some cloaks to help protect you from the elements.”

“My armor serves as protection enough,” the mage proclaimed. “I’m sure there are others who need them more.”

Against Solona’s protests, the woman pushed the coverings into the mage’s abdomen and then grabbed her wrist and pulled it beneath the cloaks. As she passed the clothes over onto Solona’s forearm, she shoved what felt like a crumpled piece of parchment into Solona’s hand. The redhead regarded the mage with an expression of warning for a quick moment before pasting on another smile.

“Please,” she contended. “I insist. Everyone deserves comfort and shelter in these dark times.”

“Well, if you insist, Sister,” Solona relented with a small nod of comprehension.

The redhead leaned in close to plant a kiss on the Warden’s cheek. “There is a small walkway behind the house to my left,” she whispered before moving her lips to the other side. “Go into the door along the back wall and read the note there.” She took a step back. “Maker watch over you and your companions,” she offered with a bow of her head and a smile.

With that, the redhead strode away to speak to a couple standing nearby. Once she was gone, Solona’s gaze turned to the building the woman spoke of. Next to it, she espied a small gap between the corner of the house and a fence, barely large enough for Harley to slip through.

The mage needed an excuse to approach the small hovel without garnering suspicion from anyone who may have been watching. She looked over at Alistair who was mindlessly scratching the hound behind the ears. Then it came to her.

“Alistair?” she questioned. “When’s the last time that dog did its business?”

The warrior raised his brow with a questioning grimace. “A few hours ago…I guess. I haven’t really paid that much attention. Why?”

“Don’t you think it’s probably time to take him somewhere so he can relieve himself?” she asked. “We can’t very well allow him to just shit in the street, now can we?”

He glanced around him where there were already several piles made by horses and other animals in the road and surrounding grass. “Um…Solona,” he hesitated. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it matters to me,” she insisted before pointing to the grassy area next to the fence. “Perhaps over there would be a good place.”

Alistair shrugged with an expression of complete confusion. “Alright,” he conceded. “If that’s what you want.”

He patted the side of his thigh to indicate to Harley that the dog should follow him then ambled over to the fence and through the gap between the rails and the house next to it. Solona and Morrigan followed close behind. Once they were out of site of the road, and had ensured no one was in the immediate vicinity to see them, Solona checked the handle of the door and found it unlocked. As she stepped inside, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“What in the Maker’s name are you doing?” Alistair asked. “You can’t just walk into somebody’s house like that?”

“Just follow me,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “And keep your voice down.”

“What about Harley?” he queried in a whisper.

“Bring him inside,” she ordered. “Quickly.”

Once they were within the confines of the house, Solona bolted the door then took in her surroundings. The internal side of the hovel was just as weather worn as the outside, with thin spots in the thatching over their heads. There was no furniture other than one broken chair in the corner, no decorations on the warped wooden slat walls. The place had obviously been abandoned for some time, but it felt alive with memories. Not ominous or eerie recollections, but remembrances of happier times that turned to sorrow and longing upon its desertion.

The mage tossed the cloaks that were over her arm to Alistair and opened the note in her hand. After smoothing out the worst of the creases, she read the hurried scrawl marred by smudges from the author’s haste to fold the parchment before the ink had time to dry.

You are in danger. Don the cloaks and go to the tavern. Leave the mabari in the house along with your staffs and large blades. There is food for the dog beneath the broken chair. Speak to no one along the way. I will be waiting at the table in the farthest corner. All will be explained there.

Solona studied the words for a long moment. She knew nothing about the woman who wrote them, other than she wasn’t what she appeared to be and she was dangerous. A lifetime in the Circle had taught her to look past outer appearances and counterfeit smiles. It was a lesson she learned well at an early age. If she heeded the cryptic message, Solona could very well be leading them all into a trap. If it was a true warning that she chose to ignore, they could be in even more trouble.

“What is it?” Alistair inquired with concern in his hazel eyes. “What’s going on?”

“It seems the sister is trying to warn us,” she told him as she passed the parchment over.

He scanned the page then turned his gaze to her. “It could be a trap,” he warned.

Morrigan snatched the paper out of the warrior’s fingers and skimmed through the words. “I can scarcely believe I am saying this,” she said. “But for once, I agree with Alistair.”

The warrior’s eyes widened as he placed his hand over his chest. “I think my heart may have just stopped. Did you just say you agreed with me?”

The witch rolled her eyes. “You cannot possibly be any more shocked than I that something resembling intelligence actually came from that gaping maw of yours.”

Solona glared at both of them in turn. “I swear to the fucking Maker, if the two of you don’t stop, I’m going to put you in separate corners of this room where you will stand like naughty children until the darkspawn come.” She blew at her bangs with an exasperated sigh. “Now, if you are quite ready to behave like the adults you claim to be…”

“To be fair,” Alistair interrupted with an impish smirk. “I never claimed to be an adult.”

“And well you shouldn’t,” Morrigan put in.

“Enough,” Solona seethed with a threatening stare. “We will go to the inn and meet with this woman.”

“But…” Alistair started to contest.

The mage held her index finger in the air to serve as a warning for him to be quiet. “No, since the two of you can’t stop arguing long enough to give me sound advice, I will do what I think is best. Now put on the Maker fucking cloaks before I put them on for you.”

Solona removed the sword from the scabbard at her back then snatched the brown cloak from the pile laying across Alistair’s arm. She quickly threw it around her shoulders as she walked to the door. Mercifully, her two companions remained silent as they followed her lead. After pulling her hood up over her head, she turned to Alistair.

“Grab the food for Harley and put it out so he can eat,” she ordered. “Then tell him to stay. When you are finished, meet us in the tavern. Be careful, and talk to no one.” As she reached for the door, something else occurred to her. She and Morrigan didn’t need weapons, but Alistair still did, and it wasn’t as if his would be seen under his cloak. “And for the Maker’s sake,” she added. “Put your sword back on your hip. I don’t trust anyone that much.”

With that, she jerked the door open and marched outside, not caring if the witch was following in her wake. She was sick of Morrigan and Alistair’s fighting, sick of being constantly angry with her fellow Warden. Before the battle at Ostagar, she considered him her best friend, but everything seemed to have changed, and she didn’t know why exactly. She honestly wasn’t sure how much more she could stand.

As she strode to the tavern, Solona gathered her thoughts to concentrate on the task ahead. She had to prepare for a fight just in case her frail trust in the redheaded woman had been misplaced. She had to get her mind off Alistair. Although he was right there with her every day, she missed him terribly. She missed his inane attempts to get her to smile. She missed his kindness and his laugh. Her hand absentmindedly reached for the amulet beneath her cloak, and she began to thumb the tiny sword and flames.

Get it together, Solona. Focus.

When the mage and the witch entered the inn, there was hardly any space to breathe, let alone move. Solona peered around the room until she spotted a table mostly hidden in shadow in the far corner. Sitting in the chair with its back facing the door was the woman with flaming red hair dressed in Chantry initiate robes.

Solona tapped Morrigan’s arm and pointed to the table before making her way over to it. As they passed by the redhead’s chair, she smiled up at them then rose to her feet.

“Oh! What a wonderful surprise!” she greeted with feigned excitement as she placed a kiss on each of the mage’s cheeks. “I haven’t seen either of you in so long.”

The woman repeated the process with Morrigan, earning her a disgusted scowl from the witch. She indicated to the chairs that sat in shadow next to the wall.

“Please,” she entreated. “Join me for a meal, my treat.”

“Of course, dear,” Solona replied in a cheery and sonorous voice as she made her way to the corner.

Such machinations were so commonplace in the Circle, she hardly gave it a second thought. Those types of ruses were typically followed by either a plot between apprentices to stab a so-called friend in the back or to plan an unauthorized gathering between mages. Morrigan, on the other hand, seemed absolutely appalled by the subterfuge.

“Where is that darling husband of yours?” the woman asked. “Will he be joining you or did you leave him behind to tend the children?”

“He’ll be along shortly, I expect,” the mage answered as she took her seat. “We left the children behind so we could have a day to ourselves. We ran into his sister along the way.”

“It is good to see you again, as well, my dear,” the redhead said to the witch.

Morrigan just harrumphed in response as she sat down. Solona regarded the ebony haired woman with a dark look, warning her to play along, but by the roll of the witch’s eyes she knew it was a hopeless cause. The mage sighed before formulating a plausible explanation for her companion’s behavior.

“Marian and Adrian got into an argument about their mother again,” she explained. “You know how siblings can be.”

“Of course,” the redhead laughed. “I have a brother of my own, remember?”

Just as the woman finished her thought, Alistair appeared at her side. Solona couldn’t chance him ruining their artifice, so she did the only thing she could think of and hoped he would get the hint. She stood, took him by the hand, and greeted him with a soft, but brief kiss.

When she reluctantly pulled away, he ran his tongue across his lips and searched her eyes as the space between his brows disappeared. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them so she could taste the peppermint that lingered on his breath once again. His lips were so soft, so luscious and her heart was racing far too fast. She could scarcely breathe under the weight of his gaze.

Solona cleared her throat and bestowed a grin. “I was wondering if you were going to be haggling with that merchant all day, husband,” she said. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for that dagger. It hardly seemed worth the price the man was asking.”

Alistair’s face screwed up with a befuddled expression. “N…no,” he stammered.

The redhead stood and greeted him the same way she had the two women. “It is so good to see you again, Adrian,” she said. “Please, sit. As soon as the barmaid comes we’ll order lunch.”

Solona pulled Alistair over to sit in the chair next to hers. The poor man looked more confused than the mage had ever seen him. The woman in initiate’s robes took a quick glance around the room and leaned forward.

“My name is Leliana,” she whispered. “Some of Arl Bryland’s men were sent here to gather anyone who even looks as if they survived the battle to the south. Any soldiers who fought at Ostagar have been taken in for questioning, but so far, none have returned.”

“Are you certain?” Alistair questioned.

“Yes,” she replied. “And there’s something else. Something much more important to you. An order has been posted on the Chanter’s board. Any Grey Wardens found are to be arrested.”

“For what?” the warrior asked, his indignation apparent to everyone at the table.

“For treason,” Leliana told him. “Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir is blaming the Wardens for the death of the king.”

I don’t know exactly why I decided to stay in Highever another day, other than the fact that I still wasn’t in any shape to have my crew see me yet. Martinez was the only one on the ship who really knew me and wouldn’t judge me too harshly for my actions. I knew if he was asked about my whereabouts, he would simply make up some grand adventure to explain why I needed a change of clothing. No doubt it would include some wild night with a few local women who ripped my clothes off me in a fit of passion. I don’t believe three men could have lived up to the reputation that man made for me with the crew.

Looking back now, I am glad of the decision. I didn’t know it at the time, but that one choice made on impulse would prove to be the single most important of my life. It’s strange sometimes how the truly defining moments of your life can slip right past without you ever giving them a second thought.

Leliana was, up to that point, the most intelligent and dangerous woman I had ever met. She never bought into the lies spread about what happened in Ostagar and proved to be of great aid in getting my family out of Lothering safely. I have to admit that when I read Varric’s account of how this meeting happened, it made me chuckle a bit. It also made me wonder if he had ever knew Leliana at all.

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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight